


Qualitative Results

by pamdizzle



Series: Scientific Procedure [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Hospital Sex, In a way, Jim is oblivious, M/M, Make up sex, Porn With Plot, Romance, Spock is trying very hard to be logical, but it's hard, post pon farr, tiny bit of plot anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third, and final, part of the Scientific Procedures Trilogy. This story won't make much sense unless you've read the other two, found <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/56736">here</a>. In this episode, Spock, Jim, and a grumpy McCoy deal with the fallout of Spock's Pon Farr from part 2. Jim discovers that sometimes, it's hard to see the evidence even when it's staring you in the face, or in this case, fucking you into the mattress.</p><p>This series began as a gift for ivycross last year, and I'm pleased to say that this final part comes just after her birthday this year! (I'm sorry it's a week late, but it just kept getting longer. <3) For each part, Ivy was kind enough to create a brand new K/S Mannip to unveil with the story, and she's done another extremely hot one. *fans self* It's hard to write a sex scene around a photo when all you can do is <em>stare</em> at said photo, and that might have more to do with this being behind schedule than I care to admit. ;) </p><p>I hope you all enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qualitative Results

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivycross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivycross/gifts).



 

**_Qualitative Data: Data that is observable but not measurable in expressions of numeric values or quantities._ **

            So, maybe Bones had been right about returning to regular duty too soon. There wasn’t a muscle in Jim’s body that didn’t feel completely wrung out or twinge in protest with every stilted movement as he warily made his way to the bridge. Still, he wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as the glances the crew kept shooting him over their shoulders when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. He could feel their eyes on the back of his neck like a branding iron that read: Walk of Shame in Progress, Do Not Intercept. You knew it was bad when the mid-ranked crew were huddled in a gossip circle before Alpha shift.

            _“Do you think it’s true?”_ he heard one person whisper.

            _“Are you serious? Just look at the guy,”_ another answered.

            He turned back toward to the group of personnel in the corridor and grinned smugly before he stepped onto the lift and punched in for the bridge. Everyone in the corridor busied themselves with their PADDs, their faces red with the knowledge that they’d been overheard. Blessedly, the doors slid shut but not before a flash of ebony and red dived between them at the last second. Jim found himself face to face with the one person he’d been hoping to avoid for at least another couple hours. Suppressing the groan that threatened to wiggle up his throat was no small feat.

“Uhura,” he greeted, smile tight with forced cheer.

“Captain,” she replied with stony professionalism.

Just as Jim was about to let out a breath of relief, thinking he’d been worried for no reason, Uhura’s hand flew to the panel and the lift lurched to a sudden stop. Jim’s hands were palm up in front of his chest, as he attempted to defend himself from Hurricane Nyota. “Listen, I didn’t know—”

“Spare me, Kirk,” she snapped. “It’s not you I’m furious with—don’t misunderstand: I’m pissed. I feel like I’ve been lied to by someone I trusted, from the start, about things essential to who they are and where I thought our relationship could go. That you…you were…I can’t—” her voice broke off, and Jim let his hands fall. “Just tell me one thing,” she managed, after taking a minute to compose herself. “When he and I were…were you—”

“No,” Jim immediately denied. “Look, it was one time—years ago, before you would have even joined the academy. He was still just a cadet.” Jim shook his head, trying to rationalize the connection he and Spock had formed that day, without explaining the complete circumstances of the situation. “I was his _one_ stupid, human mistake…”

“Jim—”

“I’m not,” he faltered, then sucked in a breath. He thought of himself, seven years ago, head snapping toward the shop door every time it chimed in hopes he’d see that face again.  Watching Spock leave him in sickbay two days ago, prepared to return to duty, had been painfully nostalgic. They’d not had an opportunity to talk about it, despite Spock’s half-formed agreement that they would. He knew what that meant, and so he’d decided things were going to be different this time. He wasn’t some pining eighteen year-old. “I’m not what he wants. I’m not what he needs. He knew it then,” Jim reached forward and unhalted the lift as he spoke, “and he still knows it now.” He turned to Uhura, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for my part in hurting you.”

When the lift opened to the bridge, he breezed past the Science Station, admittedly relieved when it was Chekov’s voice that called, “Keptin on the bridge.”

Jim nodded a stiff greeting to his officers, silently dismissing their attention back to their stations. He claimed his vacated center seat and took the morning report from Ensign Rand with a polite smile and nod. “Thank you.”

He settled into his seat. That was more like it. After Nero, after Khan and everything that had followed, his chair finally seemed to fit. It was just what he needed: some perspective. Everything else might be a mess, but he could handle _this_.

\--

            “Sooo…”

            Spock lifted his head at the Doctor with a raised eyebrow, silently waiting for the human to finish with whatever assessment he’d begun to deliver. When it became apparent that a diagnosis was not forthcoming, Spock tilted his head and relented. “Is there something you wish to say, Doctor?”

            McCoy’s blue eyes narrowed as a stern tension settled over his face. “There’s a hell of a lot I’d like to say to you, as a matter’a fact.”

            “Perhaps, then, you could start with your analysis of my current physical condition,” he intoned, his own mood darkening. He knew very well the subject the human wished to broach, and Spock was prepared to argue that whatever needed resolving between himself and the Captain had little do with the ship’s CMO.

            McCoy sniffed defiantly, his eyes refusing to leave Spock’s, as he held his tricorder out as if to read it. “It says:” he read, “You’re an asshole.”

            “Is that your professional opinion?” Spock needled, eyes narrowed.

            “You want my _professional_ opinion?” the Doctor asked, stepping into Spock’s personal space. “My professional opinion, is that you’ve got your head shoved so far up your a—”

            “Doctor McCoy!” Nurse Chapel, having been a silent participant up until that moment, snatched the doctor’s device from his hands and pushed him aside. “You’re hormone levels are still elevated,” she informed Spock, “but your blood-pressure, body temperature and CAT scans have all fallen within their normal readings.”

            “Thank you, nurse,” he replied, his face turned away from the now seething CMO. “If that is all, I’ll resume my shift.”

            The doctor appeared as though he wasn’t quite ready to relinquish his monopolization of Spock’s time, when suddenly his entire demeanor shifted. He smiled tightly as he said hastily to Spock, “You’re dismissed. Chapel, I’m going to lunch.”

            “Bones!” Jim’s voice rang through the sickbay, and Spock’s reaction was nothing less than bodily. His eyes met Jim’s briefly, for the first time in days. He opened his mouth, as if to call out, remembered himself and where he was, before snapping it shut. By the time his feet caught up with his brain, the captain and doctor had already exited to the corridor.

            Spock made to follow them, but was halted by a surprisingly tight grip on his forearm. “Not so fast,” Chapel said. “Your hormones just spiked off the charts and your heart rate is out of control.”

            He felt…he _felt everything_ rising up and threatening to overwhelm. For indeterminable moments, behind the carefully constructed wall in his mind, his emotions raged out of control. Jim had not spoken to him since his Time. They’d barely shared less than a five meter radius, let alone touched and Spock could not find his center in meditation. The Pon Farr was over, and yet he still longed. He feared. He angered. He grieved. Three times, Spock had attempted to schedule a time for them have their overdue conversation, and three times Jim had claimed other engagements and conflicts of schedule. Jim had seemed to want to speak of it, and Spock had agreed to do so—had been relieved by the reassurance that they would, in fact. What had changed in so short a time?

            Spock was now a fully adult Vulcan male. Where the urges toward Jim were negligible before, now they were a force he could no longer ignore. Seven years ago, Spock had been fascinated with human mating rituals and then Jim had shown him just how justified that fascination was. He had tried to forget. He had tried to acquire a mate that was both logical and steadying, and he had thought that he had succeeded. Then, at the crest of his fever, his foolishness had been proven beyond doubt. Had their lives never again interceded, had they not been forced to work together and then, later, shared a friendship…then Nyota would be his mate, and Spock would not have known just how misguided he had been.

            Had Jim lied about wanting to meld? Had he only said what he thought would calm the flames? What other logical explanation was there for the human’s avoidance?

            “Commander,” Chapel said, pulling the Vulcan’s attention away from the dangerous emotions threatening to take hold. “Please, what aren’t you telling us?”

            “There is nothing left to divulge,” Spock denied. It wasn’t untrue. The Pon Farr _was_ over; the incomplete bond was an altogether different matter, with its own specific set of risks.

            “Fine,” Chapel replied stiffly, “but I’m putting on your file that your readings are still abnormal. You’ll need to return for a follow up exam every forty-eight hours until all abnormalities are reconciled.”

            Spock regarded her with a raised brow. “Noted. If you’ll excuse me.” He exited sickbay and retreated to his quarters where he planned to meditate for the remainder of the lunch hour.  

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Uhura was waiting for him when he arrived. “We need to talk,” she stated firmly, but when their eyes met he knew that she could see. “Oh, Spock.”

At one time, he would have considered the act an illogical indulgence; Instead, Spock found himself enjoying the familiar comfort and calm of her embrace. “I do not know what to do.” 

Nyota leaned back and nodded, smiling slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Spock did not relish being their cause. “I came in here ready to…I don’t know. I think I really wanted to hit you, and feel rightfully indignant about it, but—” She straightened herself and turned away, becoming a sudden flurry of movement. She crossed his quarters to where he usually meditated and pulled his mat from under the cabinet there, unrolled it onto the floor and then lit the incense in his totem. “Come on. Sit down and try to find some peace while I get us some tea. If you’re going to dump me for Boy Wonder, I think I deserve to know the full story.”

“Very well,” Spock agreed. He had never spoken of his and Jim’s first true encounter but he conceded that if anyone deserved the truth...

Kaidith. He would meditate and again attempt to regain control over the lingering emotions. His shields had confined the link before. If he could place them again, control should be maintainable for at least the duration of their next mission. Perhaps once they weren’t so occupied with preparations and ship’s maintenance, Jim would find a suitable time to approach Spock with his intentions.  

 

\--

             McCoy rubbed at the back of his stinging neck as he opened a new report. Their current mission was up the creek, and they were down a First Officer. McCoy’s injury was, in no small part, the Vulcan’s fault. Forcibly separating a pissed off Vulcan from a demonstration android was a pain in the ass—or neck, as it were, since that was where he’d had to jab Spock with a heavy sedative. Of course, it had all started routinely enough; the Enterprise having been ordered to Starbase 17 to appraise a line of defensive androids which the Federation was considering deploying to colonies bordering the neutral zone. Their job was to determine whether or not the androids possessed adequate programming to distinguish between actual threats and non-hostiles.

Jim Kirk, fearless Captain, had of course wanted a more active role in the proceedings. ‘Get up close and personal, Bones,’ had been Jim’s exact words. McCoy had feared that something would go wrong, but the demonstration had actually been going well until Jim decided to push the bounds and test the android’s response control. The Captain had provoked it and gotten himself tossed halfway across the auditorium, and it didn’t seem as if that was going to be the end of it either. The droid had taken off at a sprint toward Jim’s unconscious form, when Spock sprung leaped off the observation balcony and tackled the ‘droid to the floor. He’d beat the tar out of it too, McCoy remembered with a smirk. Sparks were flying everywhere by the time they’d managed to knock the Vulcan out. Jim was still in the auditorium trying to smooth things over with manufacturer’s representatives, actually.

To make matters worse, they were stuck on the base until Scotty finished making mandatory upgrades on the transporters. McCoy didn’t much care for the base’s medical wing, not because it was inadequate but because it so goddamned lavish. It resembled a hotel more than an actual hospital, which was great for the patient but not so great for doctors concerned about sterile equipment and accessibility. He liked his uncomfortable beds clearly visible through large panes of glass and he preferred his equipment attached to the wall. Utilitarian he may be, but when your patient was going into cardiac arrest, down pillows and privacy wasn’t what would save ‘em. 

He eyed the door to the Vulcan’s temporary room with sympathy and more than a touch of guilt. The spectacle Spock had created would embarrassing enough for the Commander, but more so—in McCoy’s mind at least—was the cause. In the week since the Vulcan’s biological meltdown, McCoy had slowly begun to realize that he’d jumped to conclusions and probably owed the sorry bastard an apology. When Spock had helped Jim down to sickbay, after the Pon Farr, neither of them had seemed too worse for wear. Then, not twenty minutes later, without even so much as ‘see you later’ or a ‘thank you,’ Spock had just left Jim there with McCoy. The stone cold bastard, or so he’d felt justified thinking at the time, seeing as how Jim was so damned depressed afterward.

Though, Lord knew Jim refused to tell him a damn thing about what had happened, and when he’d approached Uhura to see what she knew, she’d told him, ‘The First Officer’s private affairs are none of my concern.’ Still, that had answered that question—either she hadn’t taken Spock back or Spock hadn’t even tried so what was the problem? Jim wasn’t good enough for his Vulcan sensibilities? Admittedly, he’d been presumptuous and he’d not seen this coming when he damn well should have…shouldn’t he?

With a sigh, McCoy focused on his computer screen to begin typing up his report, when a blur of gold on the security monitor feeding in from Spock’s room caught his eye. “Ah, damn it.”

\--

            Spock was awake when Jim slipped into the darkened room. He leaned against the door frame as he contemplated his approach. Neither of them said anything for long minutes until the Vulcan eventually turned his face to look away, closing his eyes. “I am…sorry. My actions were—”

            “A great way to demonstrate the inherent dangers of entrusting colonists to fleets of unthinking machinery,” Jim finished. “If you hadn’t intervened, that android would have killed me.”

            Spock’s gaze snapped back to his. “That is not what the reports will—”

            “That is _exactly_ what the reports will say, Commander, because myself, Chekov and Scotty have just spent five hours of our time arguing just that to SyntheTech’s people and I don’t want to hear another word about it. You will, this one fucking time, do exactly as I order you. Understood?” Jim pushed off the door frame and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He took Spock’s hand in his, and squeezed. Gentler this time, he repeated, “Understood?”

            The Vulcan swallowed as he met Jim’s stare. “Understood, Captain,” he whispered.

            Daringly, Jim rearranged their hands so that their fingers intertwined. He ghosted a thumb over the gauzed knuckles with a frown. He knew if he peeled it back, he’s see the evidence of Spock’s earlier outburst. “Now that we’ve settled that, you want to tell me what happened down there? Is this…were we wrong about your Time? Is it still happening?”

            “No.”

            “Oh,” Jim replied, feeling foolish. He attempted to unwind their hands but the Vulcan’s sudden grip wouldn’t allow it.

            “Why?” Spock nearly shouted, his eyes broadcasting countless emotions, none of them pleasant. It made Jim’s stomach twist. He felt his arm tingle suddenly, all the way up to the back of his neck. “Is _that_ what truly you think?”

            “Are you in my head, Spock?” Jim asked, angrily. “Without my permission?”

            Spock growled and yanked Jim onto the bed, splaying Jim against him, his free arm coming up to pin him there. “I do not need to be in your mind to see what is plainly visible upon the surface, but _you_ are holding _my_ hand.”     

“Spock—”

            “You believe you require the excuse of Pon Farr to touch me,” Spock accused.

            “Don’t I?” Jim asked, incredulous. “The second it’s over, you’re out the door— _again_! You think I don’t get it? You think I don’t know why you’re so desperate to talk to me about what happened seven years ago after you’ve done everything in your power up till now to pretend it never happened?”

He took a deep breath, letting the tension in his body relax. “Look, I know what you need to do. I’m okay with it. I just thought…I’d give it a few days to see if you might change your mind. You seemed fine before when the link was there and neither of us knew about it. If I’d thought for it a second it was going to hurt you, I would have let you remove it right away. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Spock.”

“Remove it?” Spock questioned. His expression was somewhere between furious and ferocious. “What if I refuse?”

 _What?_ “You can’t just refuse—”

            Spock flipped them over, pinning Jim to the bed and looming over him. “You. Are. Mine. Your arguments are ill formed and illogical. If I did not want you, I could have easily destroyed our link and mated with the first available body that would have had me. If you had not wished to let me fuck you to malnourishment, you could have sedated me and carted me back to the new Vulcan colony. As neither of us took steps to do either of those things, I will function under the assumption that you are delusional if you think I am willing to dissolve it now.”

            With that, Spock dipped forward and kissed Jim with an intensity he hadn’t experienced since his near strangulation. The only thing more startling was his own visceral reaction to it. One seeking lick against his lips, and Jim opened his mouth, sucked the Vulcan’s tongue inside and pushed his own forth to meet it. His body arched for more contact, a week of cold turkey from Spock’s skin making him beg for it like an addict, and god was he ever addicted. Jim maneuvered his legs out from under the Vulcan, moaning when Spock slid smoothly between them. He pushed his hips up with the balls of his feet, rubbing himself against Spock’s impressive hardness and wanting it so badly he was aching for it.

            Spock growled and pressed him firmly to the bed, hands moving from Jim’s wrists to his trousers, ripping them open and destroying the flies of yet another uniform. The Enterprise’s quartermaster wouldn’t be happy, and he’d be getting another lecture. Jim couldn’t care less. He raised his hips so the material could be yanked down, then up and off. Then, Spock was freeing himself from his med-gown and ripping Jim out of his shirts. When Spock laid back down, it was on his side and he pulled Jim back against him. The Vulcan pushed his cock between Jim’s cheeks to slide lewdly back and forth across his hole.

            His own length throbbed and his hips began to move in answer; wanting, seeking, begging. Jim reached back and hooked his arm around Spock’s neck so he could see his face. Spock’s hair was slicked back with medical gel and his head was shaved on the sides where they’d must have put sensors to read his brain patterns. Neither of them had shaved in over eighteen hours but the effect on Spock was dangerously sexy. Spock’s stubble felt good scraping against his own as he peppered the Vulcan’s chin and jaw with wet, lazy kisses. “Please, Spock,” he fairly panted. “Just…”

            Spock’s eyes were bright and intense as he slipped a hand between his thighs, palm up. Slowly, Spock lifted Jim’s leg, as he slid into position behind him. Jim felt the Vulcan line up, the blunt head of his cock hot, wet and _right there._ He let his head fall back and shut his eyes, surrendering himself completely. When Spock pressed in, Jim sighed in relief as his body accepted the breach with ease. It felt perfect. Like watching the stars whiz by on the main viewer. Like easy conversation over chess. Like coming home at the end of a long day.

            “Jim…”

[ ](http://s751.photobucket.com/user/Wingstar102/media/1958983_10100350530830904_1679264698_o_zps7db8015f.jpg.html)

            “Gods, yes.” Spock was against and inside him, and it was all he’d been wanting this entire week. And yet, he was greedy for so much more. “Move,” Jim panted. “Please, Spock… _move_.”

            “Look at me, Jim,” Spock said, his tone sincere and pleading. Jim did, and Spock suddenly thrust forward, to the hilt, causing them both to gasp. They caught their breath as Jim ran his fingers through the fine, soft hair at the back of Spock’s head. He’s spent hours with his fingers tangled in this hair, and he could spend days just like this. Slowly, the Vulcan withdrew, skin slipping against skin in a sweet pull of flesh, and then pushed back in just as slowly.

            It hadn’t been like this, not even the last time before Spock had helped him dress and seen them both to sickbay. This was different; intentional, relaxed and lazy, like they had all the time in the world. They didn’t, of course, but Jim couldn’t bring himself to be distracted by the duties awaiting them both beyond the confines of the bed. It was too gentle. Too perfect. Too good to stop. It was everything Jim had ever hoped it would be between them, and he felt himself growing desperate for more, more everything.

            His cock slapped against his abdomen as he writhed against Spock wordlessly begging for anything the Vulcan was willing to give him. Gradually, Spock began to quicken their pace, pulling out just halfway before snapping his hips forward, over and over. Jim groaned and reached for his aching cock, stroking it loosely but not enough to do more than take the edge off. “Can we…can you…show it to me?” He swallowed and strived for a brief moment of clarit to say, “Show me the link.”  

            Spock didn’t answer but that was normal, instead he slowly lowered the leg he was holding before rolling Jim onto his stomach and helping the human to his knees. In one fluid motion, he sank into Jim again, and so much deeper than before. Jim’s prostate was swollen and sensitive now, and he moaned as Spock stroked it with every well-aimed thrust. It was torturously slow, and Gods so deep, Spock refusing to pull out as he rolled his hips and kept pressure on the gland. Jim was caught in the sweet burn of warming into it and rocketing to release, his fingers twisted into to the sheets to keep himself anchored to something.

            He wanted to stay like this forever but at the same time he desperately needed to come. When Jim knew he couldn’t take anymore, just as he was about to yell for Spock to come on and fuck him already, it started. Spock went still behind him and Jim’s hips were seized with two, by now, familiar hands. Suddenly, he was being pushed and pulled, back and forth, along Spock’s piercing length. He relaxed his back and allowed himself to be manhandled, reveling in how good it felt to relinquish control like this, _only_ like this, _only_ with Spock. He arched inward, rewarding his prostate with rapid-fire stimulation. “Ah! Spock… _yes-oh God!_ ”

            For all that it was well-earned, Jim’s orgasm washed over him unexpectedly as Spock continue to drill into him with relentless fervor. It was perfect, and were it not for that fact that he loved it when Spock came deep inside him—“God, Spock, _just like that,”—_ he might have been sad that it was over already. He wondered, again, if this were some remnant of Spock’s Time. If it were, he’d never forget it. He’d cherish this moment, with all the others, until he was sure he was dying and then he’d focus on remembering until it was over.  

            Spock moved away all too soon, and Jim ruefully flopped over onto his back only to be pinned to the bed again by a heavy, sex-tussled Vulcan. “Spock, if it’s still your Time—”

            “I have already told you, the Pon Farr is over,” Spock interrupted sharply, taking Jim off guard. So much for the post-orgasmic haze. “You wanted to know what happened on the station, I will tell you. I have waited a full standard week for you to accept my invitation to discuss our situation. I have done so in what I thought to be a logically placed _hope,”_ Spock nearly spat the word, “that once you agreed, we could complete our bond as you promised me we would! If you truly wish to see the link, then say it now when I’m not still buried inside you.”

            There was a clatter from the doorway, and both of them whipped their heads around to see Bones standing just inside the room. He had dropped his PADD, and was staring at them both with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Sorry, I just, uh—”

            “Now is not the time, _Doctor_ ,” Spock nearly growled.

            Jim’s eyes flew between the two officers momentarily before Bones gave a curt nod, turned on his heel and left. There was no way he didn’t know what they’d just been up to, and Jim felt himself grinning despite their current conversation. “He really puts up with more than his duty demands.”

            “Do not attempt to change the subject,” Spock reprimanded.

            “Sorry.” Jim reached up instinctually to touch Spock’s frown only to halt himself halfway, his hand dropping between them. His faced heated with embarrassment at his own uncertainty. “Sorry,” he said again. “You didn’t seem…the way you left sickbay, when you were _you_ after, I thought you just wanted to forget it ever happened. Again.”

            Spock’s brow furrowed to display his confusion. “I do not understand. We agreed to speak of it after—”

“You were still half out of your mind with fever!” Jim protested in harsh undertones, attempting, with great difficulty, not to shout. “How we met that first time…I know I’m not your—I’m not really _anyone’s_ ideal partner. But I showed up every day,” he admitted quietly. “Even on the days I wasn’t working, for months. I would just watch the door. If you came back, I wanted to be there. I knew you weren’t going to, but I hated being right. I hated that you didn’t prove me wrong.”

“Jim, there is much you do not know,” Spock said as he rolled off and onto his side, pulling the human close and tangling their legs together. He never would have taken Spock as the cuddling type, but as good as it felt he was still reluctant to get comfortable, afraid of allowing himself to like it too much in case it was only just this once.

“I did not return,” Spock continued when they were settled more comfortably, “because I could not fathom the results of our encounter. For several days after, I could not complete the first level of meditation without thinking of it…of you. I believed, at the time, that my untrained mind was having difficulty processing the sensations as a result of prematurely exposing myself to heightened levels of physical contact. I had not considered this in my approach to the study, having operated on the premise that sex was a physical exchange between participants resulting in the release of naturally occurring chemicals in the brain, which are then interpreted as various emotions. Vulcans control these functions, and so I could not determine the cause for my difficulties. It was not until I finally conceded to my distraction and allowed for you to be the subject of my meditation, that I discovered the beginning of a link.”

Jim felt himself tense and his eyes narrowed. “You’ve known? _The whole time?_ ”

“Yes,” Spock replied. He had at least sounded regretful.  

Jim was pissed to hear it though, and normally he would have choice words for Spock’s withholding of crucial information, especially for the better part of a decade, but he’d waited for this explanation for so long. He had to know the reasons for it. All of it. He took a deep breath and said, “Alright. So if you knew, why didn’t you just tell me? Why didn’t you do anything to fix it before it came to…well,” he gestured to their position with both hands, “this.”

Spock met his gaze apprehensively. “Vulcans do not speak of such things until one’s Time is approaching, and even then, emotions are acknowledged but not openly discussed. I was confused, and there was no one whom I could ask for advice, not without compromising your privacy or my ambitions to remain enlisted in Starfleet. The link was small…weak. I could not _feel_ you as I do now. The best analogy I can express for it would be that it was like a small souvenir; a memento of our time together. It was a small, disconnected part of you to carry with me. I believed it to be harmless. It is not uncommon for Vulcans to form such links between those close to them. I hypothesized that, based on all evidence at hand, the link had formed as a spontaneous reaction to the sudden influx of pleasure stimuli introduced, by you, to my unprepared mind.”

Jim chuckled, he couldn’t help it. “So, I gave you a dopamine overdose? I don’t know if I should feel guilty or smug.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth quirked slightly. “I am certain you do not feel guilty.”

Jim grinned, then sobered. “I guess that explains why you didn’t come back. Being around me would have affected it somehow?”

“Encouraged it, yes,” Spock confirmed.

“Okay. Well, that—”

“No.”

“What? I didn’t even—”

“That is not why I did not return,” Spock clarified, catching Jim off guard. “You believe I avoided you because I did not want to know you. You believe I thought you inferior, if not now then certainly when we first met, and that could not be farther from reality. It was not because I thought you could bring me pleasure that I allowed you to do so that day. I allowed it because I…” Spock seemed to blush and he had trouble meeting Jim’s eyes. After a brief pause, he continued, “I liked how you treated me when you approached me in the store; as though I were just another person. At the academy, I was frequently bombarded with questions and insults regarding my appearance, my heritage, my logic, my _alien_ intellect, among others. Your reaction to me was refreshing—relieving, if I am honest. It is simply, that I liked you.”

“Okay…so you liked me. Good!” Jim urged, emphatically, “Why the hell didn’t you come back? I obviously wanted you to, I even offered—” It dawned on him suddenly. “The shop. My profession.”

“I doubted your sincerity,” Spock answered bluntly but softly.

And what could he possibly say to that? Spock had been as virgin as they come and Jim had known it at the time too. It made sense and Jim couldn’t really argue with the reasons for Spock’s _logical_ doubts. It must have been a shock, some five years later, to get that report on his desk about a young cadet who had undermined his exam. Jim’s picture would have been right beside it, along with his last name. He smiled suddenly, finding it impossible to be angry. They knew each other now, and they were older, more experienced versions of themselves. It would have never worked back then. “Tell me,” Jim said with a grin, “exactly how pissed off at me were you, when you saw my last name on that report?”

Spock arched and eyebrow and replied, “Exceedingly.”

“I went through a bit of a rebellious period,” Jim admitted, because really there was no other reason for him to be a prostitute, except that he knew it would piss Winona off. When his father had died, Starfleet had taken care of them, and his parents hadn’t exactly started meagerly to begin with. So no, Jim Kirk should have started living up to his father’s name long before Pike dragged him out of that bar in Iowa, but he’d never been able to follow the rules. He eyed Spock, challengingly. “I’m sure you couldn’t relate, _Commander._ ”

The corners of Spock’s lips quirked as he replied, “Touché.”

“Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

Jim smiled as he ran loving fingers over the Vulcan’s forehead, no longer hesitant. “I want to see it,” he insisted.

“Yes,” Spock agreed with a soft, lingering kiss. His hand ghosted over Jim’s meld points, fingers feather light against his skin. He then whispered against Jim’s lips, “My mind to your mind…”

           

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>    
> Dear Readers,
> 
> I know I shouldn't have to say this--and for three years, I've never had to mention it, not even once. 
> 
> I know the artwork I embed in my work may not be to everyone's taste at times, but I typically warn in the summary or the tags that images are within and always rate my fics accordingly to all content involved, especially whenever mannips or artwork are provided to me by some of my dearest friends. My. Dearest. Friends. 
> 
> You may hate my stories, how I write--admittedly, I'm a constant work in progress and I understand when I open my work up to others that I might get negative feedback, and have over the years received a few totally derogatory comments. It's like a rite of passage for fanfiction writers, tbh. Insult my work all you want. Tear it apart piece by piece. That's fine. 
> 
> What is definitely not fine, is taking an opportunity to comment upon the art within, and using it to personally insult the abilities of my dear friend who created that art specifically for me and donated it to me and fandom for free. You don't like it? Fine. You think there's something technical that could be improved upon--*politely* say it or don't say it. But DO NOT insult my friend or your perceived concept of her ability (which I, and many others, patently disagree with, by the way). You may be the shit at Photoshop, Gimp, or maybe you think you're the next Monet. I really don't care. The people who donate their time and work to my fanfiction, are not a target for your pettiness. Those who create photo manipulations spend hours doing it, just like I spend hours writing or an artist spends hours drawing/painting/etc. Your words were nothing but a means to discourage and belittle someone else and held zero value. 
> 
> The artist for every piece in this series is one of the sweetest, most compassionate, and giving people I've ever met online or anywhere else. She is VERY talented, and you don't have to like her work, but don't her put her down in my comments section. My stories will not be a venue for your unnecessary meanness. If you wish to message me directly regarding any work or content therein, to vent your negativity, contact me on tumblr or facebook. Links to both are in my profile. Bring your comments to me directly, my friends don't deserve to read your disparaging diatribe. 
> 
> For everyone else, please feel free to either leave a review or *constructive criticism* (though I cannot promise I'll go back through these to repair it since I'm not really writing for the fandom anymore at this time, focusing instead on original work, but you never know). 
> 
> Regards,
> 
> Pamdizzle
> 
>  
> 
> I also write original m/m erotica fiction, if you're interested. You can find it [here](http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_1117)


End file.
